


Why are you so obsessed with my d...?

by katsukiy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Implicit First Time, Keith is a tease, Lance (Voltron) is a Dork, Latino Lance (Voltron), M/M, Mention of Princess Allura, Mutual Pining, abuse of italic, everyone is uncomfortable, keith in a ponytail, mention of masturbation, mostly Lance is pining, the explicit tag is mostly for the talks, they talk about dicks a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsukiy/pseuds/katsukiy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not!” he argued then, intelligently. Seeing the confusion on Keith’s face, he rectified “Obsessed. With your dick, that is.”</p><p>Or, Lance <i>is</i> kind of obsessed with Keith's dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why are you so obsessed with my d...?

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting and first time writing Klance! So no smut yet, it's just mostly a lot of dick talk. But it _will_ happen someday. It's been a lot since I last wrote something, so beware of my rustiness. (But I couldn't help joining the bandwagon, having become Klance trash in literally one night I felt like it had to be done)  
>  Hope I didn't make any gross mistakes of characterization! (This started out as a cracky, then ended up as... this) Be gentle.

Lance is one to get stuck on things, he's aware. He latches onto thoughts and can't seem to let go, not even when it's clear everyone would just be better off if he just- _stopped_. It's stronger than him, though. His _Mam_ _á_ didn't raise him a quitter, after all. And it’s not like his stubbornness didn't do him any good, either. He could say, without doubt, it’s one of the most charming features of his character. At least, that’s what an astrologist would say, and he’s not a nonbeliever.

  
So, everything started in the shower, like all great things do. He wouldn't be surprised if one day he got struck by the key solution that'd bring to universal peace just right there, under the hot spray of water, nuhu. And if he happened to discover a genius way to _get some_ , too, that would’ve been kind of even better. He was not ungrateful, mind you, he knew being there, piloting a giant robot lion and trying to save the universe fighting the _big bads_ and all that gig was better than he had ever imagined going with his life. Honestly, he would have been okay too if he only got to shoot things sometimes, so this was going greatly over his expectations.

But there’s only so much you can do in a giant castle inhabited by a total of seven people, and most of it is being full of sexual frustration, unable to do anything about it and trying to let that out by, as precedently said, shooting things.

  
Anyways. He was there, soaping off his body, washing away the sweat from the daily group training, and his hands got too close to a certain part of his anatomy. Lance was a healthy teenager, that he was, and it was only natural he had a lot of stamina to burn. Especially if you consider all that sexual frustration thing. So, yeah, we all know where this is going.

  
But in the middle of thinking about hot alien chicks, his thoughts wandered where they never should have. It's hard even to admit now. His very creative imagination presented him with a slim waist - a pretty standard one, if he has to say so, but a solid ten in the scale of waists nonetheless. He was just starting to like where this was going, but when the view expanded the shoulders were a little broader than he had imagined, and covered with freckles all over. It was a solid back, nothing to say, but it brought with it a sense of deja-vù that Lance had ( _almost_ , we can say that now) never felt before. The muscles rippled under the smooth skin, glistening with what seemed like sweat. The dawning realization that he had seen that back somewhere just came to him when he saw a little scar nearing the end of the person’s spine, one he had seen admittedly a lot of times before, because he apparently couldn’t stop himself from looking: this wasn't just a random nice back, this was _Keith’s_.

Things got kind of simpler but also horrifyingly embarrassing after that: the Keith in his fantasies was naked, ready to shower, just done with his terribly long (and he trained like two, sometimes three times a day, _who did that?_ ) training, his skin lucid and yet so very less gross than it should have been. The thing was, Lance could see him starting to move in a way that would have showed him _something_ , which was probably the goal his traitorous mind had pursued all along, but at that point he was very aware of what was happening, so he screwed his eyes shut and _oh my God just fucking stop_. Fantasy Keith vanished, and Lance was left pissed off, still hard but definitely uncomfortable and unable to keep going with the original plan.

 

 _Fucking Keith,_ he thought (and wasn’t that oh so ironically fitting?); he was able to ruin even masturbation for him. The Red paladin was like an unfairly pretty thorn in his side, and the fact that “unfairly pretty” was automatically added to the description in his head just made the whole ordeal worse. Okay, Lance was an honest man, and he could admit Keith was an attractive specimen. That didn’t mean he wasn’t also an annoying asshole who made his life more difficult just by existing. And boy, what a snarky existence it was.

 

Of course, they _had_ , somehow, bonded. You did that, after saving each other’s lives, it was a thing that happened regardless if you wanted it or not. They still liked to fight over petty things at dinner, at lunch, at breakfast - and pretty much every other moment, really. But it was _amicable_ , as far as he was concerned at least. Keith had, who would’ve ever guessed, a strong sense of humor and a lot of sarcasm in him. Lance could never get bored of teasing him, because Keith had a way of replying with this deadpan, infuriating tone that made his hair stand up.

 

And then they had started sparring together in the training deck, in the evenings. Lance was lazy, he could only use his free time for extra training so much before wanting to just _get out_ and spaz around the castle. But Keith had asked, sounding indecisive yet so intense, and Lance couldn’t say no. So they fought, and Keith kept asking and Lance kept saying yes.

 

At that moment, though, Lance had more pressing matters at hand, in a terribly literal way. He couldn’t leave it at that, because that would’ve been a downright cruel thing to do to himself. So he decisively turned the tap, and squealed just a little at the cold water hitting his body, successfully taking care of his not so little problem (he could brag at least to himself, damn right). He quickly got out of the shower, wrapped himself in a towel and dove straight for his bed, in all his naked gloriousness, because what if he liked to sleep like that, there wasn’t anyone to judge him anyway.

 

Looking at the ceiling, he breathed out, just as the awkwardness started coming back to him in waves. Why the hell would his imagination betray him like that? How would he ever be able to watch Keith in the face from now on? The reply was simple: with his usual shit eating grin, _conceal don’t feel_. Like nothing had happened. And it hadn’t! Because he was sure, deep down, that eventually everyone in the ship had thought about everyone else in that way. Right? That had to be right. Living alone together in such close quarters, of course it had to happen sometimes. When you’re alone you turn back to the things most familiar to you, or something like that. Even though imagining Coran do it- no, let’s not go there, he’d have to take another shower. Ew.

 

He’d bet Keith hadn’t even bothered being respectful like he had been. He’d bet he went all the way thinking about him. And wasn’t that a gleeful thought? One that stroked his ego for sure, so he entertained it in his head for a little longer. Keith would be pissed, but couldn’t resist jerking off to _this_ great piece of ass. He would knit his super expressive eyebrows in a frown, but slide his hand in his pants anyway, maybe bite his lips a little. Would he moan Lance’s name? Would he try to stop himself from doing so, pressing his free hand to his mouth, breathing heavily with that scrunched up expression he often wore when he was concentrated? Would he- wait a moment, hell no. Where was Lance going with all this? It had stopped being funny at the second line and started becoming _hot_. Holy shit. That was just a slip, though. A horny teenager was bound to find everything hot, it was just human nature, healthy body and everything. Looking at _linoleum_ would’ve made him think about sex, really. It’s just how it was.

 

He screwed his eyes shut and chanted “stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it” a few times, willed his (not!) little pal into submission and tried to sleep. Princess Allura would’ve wiped the floor with his ass (and not in the fun way, if there ever was a fun way to do that) tomorrow morning during training if he appeared slow or out of focus, and not sleeping could do that. So. He needed to sleep.

 

And since Lance was a pretty simple guy, that he did. Sleep.

 

\----------------------------------------

  
The problem was: Allura wiped the floor with his ass anyway, because he actually _was_ out of focus. His mind was replaying the little conspiracy theory he had come up the night before in a terribly distracting loop. He couldn't stop thinking about it.

Was it a thing he had made up only to feel himself better about having ( _just momentarily_ ) the hots about Keith, or was it?

 

And as we already noted, Lance was one to latch onto things like that. He could never let go.

 

That's why he brought it up at the worst possible moment he could possibly choose. That is, after the group training, with everyone present in one tiny room.  
"Hey guys," he started, cheerfully, "I was wondering..." He felt the room get weirdly tense, after that. His teammates had learned that Lance wondering things was a no-no, the hard way. He didn’t know that though.

 

A tick.

 

“Did you ever masturbate thinking about me?”

  
Someone groaned. Hunk got red as a beet and seemed to hunch on himself, like he usually did when they asked him a question he definitely didn’t know how to respond to in class, back at the Garrison (he always knew, so it was a rare thing, and that’s what made it memorable). So that was a yes. Pidge didn't raise their eyes from the machine they were working on, but a smirk appeared easily on their lips. Enigmatic. Shiro started sweating. Lance was offended. Allura and Coran simply disappeared into thin air -  one moment they were there, the moment after that they were no more. Well, it’s not like it surprised him. Now Keith, Keith was an interesting subject though. His ears were slowly coloring, and yet his face gave nothing away. A salt statue, really. His stoic expression was the usual, but did Lance just see him gulping? Maybe not.

 

No one spoke. So it needed to be him, because he just couldn’t shut up.

 

“Guys, come on,” he urged, “don’t make this any more deep than it needs to be (heh)! I was just thinking, it could totally happen. We’re all alone in space, it’s not like we have wi-fi to download porno, and I’m starting to forget how real boobs look like. And if I didn’t have one, I would forget dick too! It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He blinked, took a deep breath. “It would be a forgivable thing if one of us did, right? Nothing weird. As long as it’s a one time thing. Or maybe not, because at this point the whole reasoning behind it would collapse, I wonder if-”

 

“Oh my god _shut up,_ ” came in a breath to interrupt his ramblings, from nonetheless than Keith, whose ears were crimson red, his face still unreadable.

 

Lance looked at him speculatively. He was about to say something snarky, but Pidge chimed in. “Yes, Lance, it would be okay. Right, guys?” they seemed pretty satisfied with something, like they had just discovered something they didn’t know before, and that was downright scary. Pidge loved information, even better if it was something you’d never tell anyone alive, not even yourself. And this time Lance wasn’t sure of what that was, but it wasn’t looking good from his perspective, definitely.

 

“I- I guess?” came from Hunk, a little hoarsely.

 

Shiro just gave a tight nod, still sweating; but it was enough for Lance, who looked expectantly at Keith, the only one missing now. And the one whose opinion he needed more, also, not that he would admit that.

 

The Red paladin didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He got up from the sofa, is mouth a thin line, and said “I’ll go train some more. If something happens, I’ll be there.” and just- left.

 

Lance was outraged. “Mullet-head!” he called out, angrily, but Keith was gone. “What the hell’s his problem,” Lance muttered - not to anyone in particular, really. He just liked to hear the sound of his voice, sometimes, especially if it was insults directed to Stupid Jacket. That guy had _issues_. “Anyway, who’s up for some obscure card game?” he added, with a grin.

 

Everyone seemed to relax after that. Shiro stopped sweating. Pidge was looking positively beaming, all the while tapping on their weird machine thing. As he already said, _scary._

 

Lance lost all the matches.

 

\----------------------------------------

  
That was not the end. Lance would not let it be. As long as he had breath left, he would bug the hell out of Keith about it. Not just because he sincerely wanted to know, but also (mostly) because bugging the Red paladin was something that made his day better. Like a charm. And he was _super_ bored.

 

He started slipping inappropriate questions every time he could. Even in fights. And Keith kept deflecting them like a stealth pro. One time they were fighting about the rules of an Altean game they had found stored in a cupboard, and Lance all but cried out “You should just admit that you think about me when you stroke your dick!” Everyone freezed. Keith scoffed, narrowed his eyes and retorted calmly “You’re right, the Schnapp can only move like this.”

 

 

Lance couldn’t deal. He started ambushing him whenever he could. But not when they trained together, because that would’ve been just rude.

 

So, things were like this: Keith had started avoiding him, except in the evenings, where he would ask him to spar and Lance would say yes and shut up. It was so weird. But they had reached a resemblance of a routine, and no one dared to say anything about it.

 

Lance kept having fluttering flashes of fantasies, though. He would hyperfocus on some small detail of Keith’s hands gripped around the handle of his bayard, and lose concentration, letting himself be kicked to the curb because of it. Keith would look at him with a weird intensity and say nothing. Sometimes he’d offer his hand to help him stand, his mouth curled in a soft almost-smile, but it was just a moment, and when Lance was up and ready again, his expression had returned stoic and intent.

 

Avoidance aside, the blue paladin had started to doubt himself and his sanity. He kept _looking_ , couldn’t stop noticing little things about his arch-enemy (who was he kidding, though? It had stopped being like that a lot of time ago), like the way he sometimes pulled his mullet in a ponytail. And wasn’t that just ridiculous? He would’ve made fun of it, if only he hadn’t feared that would make Keith stop doing it. How long was his neck anyway? That couldn’t be normal.

 

One time they were sparring and it got particularly hot, so Keith asked for a little time-out. Lance watched him uncap a bottle of water and gulp it all down, his shirt riding up a little because of the position, and had the sudden urge to _touch_. He wanted to brush his pads over his bobbing Adam’s apple and go down, down, under his tank top, feeling every spot and bump of his pale body. He wanted to trace his spine, caressing every vertebrae, wanted to scratch his fingers over his ribcage and thread them in his hair. Would he let him? Would he arch under his touch, exposing himself? Would he get flustered, babble incoherently, hide his face in his hands?

 

When he came to himself, he had a hand slightly raised in Keith’s direction, and the paladin was looking at him strange, his eyebrows cocked. Lance lowered his hand like he had been scorched, mumbled something about being tired and fled.

 

From then on, he started making up excuses for not going. Avoidance at his finest. At that point, they saw each other only at the dining table. It was, admittedly, kind of awkward, for everyone involved. The fights between them had increased, becoming more lashing out in frustration than anything else. Sometimes they didn’t even know what they were fighting about. Lance sure as hell didn’t.

 

Now, get this, Lance wasn’t dense. He knew exactly what was happening.

 

He was attracted to mullet head, okay? No biggie. It happened. He would get over it.

 

...But what were that soft kind of feelings that sometimes he felt about the stupid asshole, then?

 

  


He was moping. Moping really hard. Brought moping to an art form. Face down, lying on the couch, a classic. Pidge was tapping idly next to him. They stopped. “Lance”.

 

The blue paladin huffed in response. “What,” he said, without raising his head (it would have been pretty difficult to, in his position, to be fair).

 

“Stop pining and go talk to him.”

 

That made him sit up in a rush. “What?” he repeated, with more emphasis. “I am not pining! And I don’t have anything to say to that annoying piece of Galra!” He paused. “Don’t look so smug! You only talk to me about pissy, asshat Keith, it was just logic to think you were this time too!”

 

Pidge just looked at him expectantly. “What would I say to him anyway? ‘Sorry lately I’ve become obsessed with you and don’t know what any of that means’? ‘Don’t mean to be rude but please let’s fuck and hold hands’?!” He realized what he had just said and flushed whole body.

 

Pidge smiled. “That would be a start, at least,” they quietly noted, not without a little gentleness.

 

“I’m with Pidge on this,” called Hunk from where he was perched on a stool, reading some weird Altean cooking book. “Just try talking to him, you know? Without beating each other for once. I’m sure it’ll go better than you expect it to.”

 

Lance blinked, and looked at Shiro, who still seemed a little overwhelmed, but gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up.

 

“Go, lion!” Pidge hollered, with a full on smirk this time. “And don’t come back with details, for the love of god”.

 

In a daze, Lance got up and started walking towards the training deck. Keith was most likely there, being a training freak like he was.

 

He was doing this. What did he have to lose, anyway, apart from a blooming friendship, the comfort of everyone in the Caste and his own face? Nothing, really. It was bound to happen, sooner or later, since he had always been shit at keeping secrets. And sooner was mostly better than later, in his humble opinion.

 

He entered the training deck with a sense of purpose, but the silence was almost deafening. Keith wasn’t there. Uh oh. Where was he now? Lance had little time before his will started to quiver. He determinedly got out, set his shoulder straight and- bumped into someone. Who… revealed himself to be Coran. Lance was about to scramble off, then thought better of it. “Hey Coran!” he shrilled, with a big smile “Have you-” he gulped “Have you seen Keith?”

 

Coran smiled back cheerfully. “Of course I did!” he beamed “He had just finished with his training, so he went back to his room! And how are you today?”

 

Lance took a tick to understand the question. He blurted, all in one breath “Oh. I’m good, really, how about you? Good, I see. Now I have to go though see you soon!” and all but ran off, leaving Coran a tad confused. But he was glad to see Lance so cheerful, he thought to himself, and kept walking.

  


 

When Lance got to Keith’s room, he was an absolute wreck. He had started sweating, not only for trying to get there as fast as he could, and looked like someone who could have used a nap and a chamomile. He was actually running high on pure adrenalin, so that was a given.

 

He knocked, before he had the chance to change his mind, and for good measure knocked a second time. And a third.

 

“What the- Coming!” came from inside, and the door opened. “It had better be good because I was just about to show-” Keith looked at him like he had just seen a ghost. With scary chains and everything else. He paled visibly, and his mouth tightened. “What are you doing here?”

 

Keith was absolutely less gross than he should’ve been, Lance noted. He was- well, positively beautiful. And it was so unfair, no one should look that good with greasy hair (pulled in a damned ponytail!) and all sweaty. And yet he did. But Lance had to do things. Important stuff.

 

So he cleared his throat, took a step inside the room and closed the door behind himself. “We need to talk,” he urged, trying to use his most serious tone. Which- actually didn’t work that well.

 

Keith eyed him suspiciously, clicked his tongue and grunted “What, you wanna fight again over some stupid thing?” he scratched his head ( _ew_ ) and averted his gaze. “As I said, I was just about to take a shower, so I don’t have time for your nonsense.” Did he- did he actually sound bitter about it?

 

But of what Lance had (and he had a lot of qualities, if you searched long enough), patience and the ability of not taking offense were not in the list. “Are you kidding me, dude?” he barked, “You are the one who keeps spouting nonsense! You piss me off so much sometimes I just want to beat your beautiful face up!”

 

Keith straight up blushed, with his mouth half open. It was _adorable_. The fight, though, had all but left his eyes. “W-Well, come at me then! I’d love to see you try!”

 

Oh my god. Was this really happening? Lance was done. So done. He had to convey his feelings clearly this time, there was no way around it. “If only you’d admit you like to touch your dick thinking about me, everything would be simpler!”

 

The red paladin suddenly became the reddest paladin to ever live. You couldn’t tell if it was out of anger or embarrassment. His brows furrowed tightly, his lips puckered like he was trying to remember how to talk. After a beat, he seemed to regain his composure, at least partially. Damn, he was good. "...Why are you so obsessed with my dick?" he whispered, and it sounded exhausted.

  
Lance blinked. Was he? That was weird. " _Oh my god don't ever say dick again_."

  
Keith’s brows did a funny thing, then he scoffed. "Really, now? What do you want me to call it then? Manhood? Dong? Pork sword? Man, you are the first to use it all the time."

  
Lance was seriously considering the “pork sword” option. So he sounded distracted when he explained, not even bothered, "Yeah but coming from you it just sounds... weird." Then he got a hold of himself. No matter how many hilarious alternatives to “dick” Keith threw at him, he had to put an end to this, for good.

 

“I’m not!” he argued then, intelligently. Seeing the confusion on Keith’s face, he rectified “Obsessed. With your dick, that is.” He exhaled. “It’s just I started having weird thoughts and couldn’t stop thinking about it and I thought maybe you had too and…” his voice died down in a huff.

  
Keith came to a dawning realization. He smirked, watching the color leave almost completely Lance's face except for his cheeks. It seemed like all the blood in his body suddenly decided to move there, because they were crimson, and his adam's apple was bobbing frantically like he was over salivating.

 

He took a step towards Lance, and was pleased to see him scramble back instinctively against the wall. Oh, this was going to be good. You see, Keith was harboring this weird crush on the idiotic blue paladin since the start. He had never thought it would come to see the light, because, come on, it was Lance. And yet. It seemed like something had gone wrong. Or was it better to say well?

 

Keith stepped forward again, effectively trapping Lance between himself and the wall.

“Let me reply to your original question, then,” he purred. “Yes, Lance, I masturbate thinking about you. Quite often, almost every night… I think about you finally getting your head out of your ass to finally put it near mine. Even better, you putting your stupid mouth to use, instead of it spouting all that nonsense it usually does. I like to imagine your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, and sometimes I imagine you fucking me pressed against the wall of the training deck, where everyone could see. Would it be a shock that our petty quarrels are just a way to hide the fact that we want to screw each other’s brains out?” he chuckled “I think not.”

 

Lance had become almost grey. He seemed so shocked. Keith would’ve had to cuddle him hard to make himself be forgiven. But that was later. For now, he wanted to mess around with him a little more. Just a little.

 

So he breathed hard on Lance’s lips- and turned his back to him. “Did that answer your question?” he wondered, in a murmur, then left the room with long strides, making it to the bathroom.

  
Lance gulped, his back against the wall, his face hotter than the Sun and the terrible sensation that he had been made fun of.

  
His face was not the only thing aflame, and it was so awkward to even think about it, so he tried not to.

  
A pair of ticks passed, in the most mortifying silence he had ever experienced. He, you see, was a talker. He could get out of almost every situation if he talked enough. But not this time.

 

Did he screw up? Well, of course he did, he always did that. But how much? If the fact that Keith had left him like that was any indication, he would’ve guessed a lot. Shit, shit, _shit_. He’d have to leave the team. He would make his goodbyes, take a pod and return to Earth. They would’ve found someone else to pilot Blue eventually. He started to gather the strength to leave.

  
Then a voice came, seemingly pretty annoyed - at the general existence of Lance, to be completely honest. "Are you coming to join me or not?"

  
That seemed to shake him out of his reverie. His eyes widened, and he unconsciously licked his lips. Was this a particularly mean trick of his mind, again? Or was it? Well, whatever it was, Lance was not going to back down. His _Mam_ _á_  and the quitter thing, bla bla bla.

 

He steered his shoulders, gulped a big lungful of air again, and took a step forward.

 

The holding hands part, they would sort that out later.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you thank you thank you to my beta for keeping me on track when i wanted to tear my hair out.  
> Let me know what you think about it? Maybe?  
> Also, who can find the hidden Buffy reference? *winks  
> 


End file.
